Through the Eyes
by Catticus 42
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Helen Magnus, Nikola Tesla, Nigel Griffin, James Watson and John Druitt all met at Oxford? A tale that unveils the depths of their past. Each chapter reflects the same moment captured through their eyes. (warning I am a Teslen fan)
1. Of an Invisable Indivdual

I was awakened by the bitter welcome of the frozen morning while my cold limbs ached in their attempt to reach Oxford University.

Not that England was the epitome of warmth. But it was autumn, not the middle of winter for God sakes. Could a man not request for a bit of sunshine, now and then between the gloomy skies.

I looked up to the heavens expectantly, hopping for the golden rays of the sun. Only to meet.

Nothing.

But stoic white and livid grey.

Alright I thought, feeling rather optimistic as I saw the grand sandstone building appear before me, How about a hint of blue.

Again nothing.

Now becoming rather desperate I hoped for anything, anything at all, that separated itself from the endless fog of murky white.

Nothing.

I sighed in defeat evidently my request had fell short in its transcendence to the higher powers, or more than likely, rejected upon its arrival.

It seemed even the Lord held grudges. He never had forgiven me for nicking that elderly gentleman's fob watch in my adventurous if not somewhat troubled youth.

What could I say I was a thief? While my career was short. Granted only a pocket watch. However despite that minor detail I had acquired a name for myself, the unseen man. Because I was so stealthy he only saw the Fob Watches golden chain hanging uselessly from his coat.

Mischief was my only real source of entertainment you see. And besides he could barely even read the thing let alone use it, so really in an unprincipled way I did him a favour.

The man upstairs however refused to see it that way, so unsurprisingly the sky remained as motionless as stone. Painted with a frigid expression, stormy clouds only differed by a darker shade of grey.

Oh well I supposed, wandering into the quiet hallway.

Then something caught my eye, to be more accurate someone.

A woman. Adorned in red, wandered past me into the open grounds.

I was shocked. Surely she must be one of the professor's wives or even one the students. For women rarely ventured inside Oxfords walls.

But she did not have the air of a married women, she held herself with such confidence that told you she belonged to no one but herself. And dared anyone to argue. A rare quality in a woman.

Blonde curls cascaded down her back as she made her way towards the old oak tree, book clasped firmly in her hands and a determined expression etched upon her beautiful face that spoke of intelligence beyond her years.

Although the dress hardly went unnoticed as many of the young and old gentlemen's heads were turned with the same shock as I was sure my own face bared. But it was not her attire that instigated such a commotion. It was the simple fact that she was a woman. One who it seemed to have had taken it upon herself to study not French needlepoint or the fine art of gossip in which ladies seemed to fancy. But higher pursuits of the mind. At Oxford no less. One of the most established Universities in the world.

It was astonishing. It was a scandal.

Things were going to become very interesting indeed.

My eyes tracked her progress as she made her way towards the oak tree as Classes had not yet began. I heard the men gossiping in her wake with a combination of shock, hostility and unreserved distaste.

"A women cannot study here it's ….. Why it's unconventional"

"I concur"

"It's a disgrace"

"The board can't be serious in letting a woman study here at oxford"

"I heard that her father managed to convince them to let her attend classes"

"This is an outrage"

I was sure the she heard them but simply gave no credence to their words. She passed them with a grace that all women could only hope to achieve and would envy to possess.

Every man seemed to have the same reaction, hostility that devolved into mockery. An outlandish notion that quickly became contagious amongst the studious and morons alike. Like a disease it spread deadly and incurable. Infecting all.

However I admired the lass for going against the establishment, she was bolder then I. Bolder then most.

She was not quite alone in that category. As a particular student also shared a similar situation. A man who was not as scandalous as the women, still entertained ridicule in his own right.

A foreigner.

You could tell that merely from his temperament, let alone his Accent and he was damn well proud of it too. His name I recalled was Tesla. Nikola Tesla. Brilliant but his arrogance could drive you to the brink of insanity. He possessed no tact in the fragile art of conversation and seemed to believe quite strongly in equality. He disrespected everyone equally.

But to my utter surprise neither a sneer nor an unkind remark uttered from his sharp tongue. As she approached the tree where he was sitting feeding those horrid pigeons. It seemed that the birds were the only thing he related to, or showed any compassion for. But perhaps I wondered he may find another. Moving out towards the gardens to my usual spot near the roses I watched them from behind the almost strategically placed rose bush.

He looked at her with unguarded awe, an expression I had yet to have seen another person evoke from him.

I smiled it seemed that beauty had met the beast. And the beast didn't know what to think of her. Come to think of it we all didn't.


	2. Of an Immortal Inventor

The icy wind gently stirred the old oak tree. Its vast branches infinitely complex from where it stood towering above me.

Amber leaves tinted with gold fluttered slowly to the ground.

Now free.

Free from the toils of life,

Its beauty and its pain.

Now to meet its final end, embraced by the solace of death.

 _Since when had I become so poetic?_ I wondered as the pigeons paced restlessly, cooing gently amongst each other. I tossed breadcrumbs from a brown paper bag as I sat against the ancient oak.

Class still had thirty nine minutes and forty seven seconds before it began and students wandered past engaging in futile attempts of idle conversation amongst themselves, so lost within the depths of their dreary lives.

How one could pity them… But then one would have to waste said pity.

I heard them whisper vile lies. Their barbs sharpened with me in mind, failed to be witty, only to be accompanied by thinly veiled insults that barley registered. Although I am sure mine had a longer lasting effect with the looks I received.

Which was probably why I was despised by, not only my fellow students, but my professors as well. As they, despite years of experience, seemed to slip on the most basic of concepts. So naturally I thought it apt to assist, not only for the benefit of my fellow students who endured these tedious lectures, but also because my ears could not tolerate their utter incompetence.

But no matter how much they hated me and my valuable contributions, or should I say corrections, at the end of the day… I was still right.

For being a foreigner, and an intellectually gifted one at that, I was shunned and excluded. No one spoke to me unless to provoke anger, or degrade my country. I was different. Strange. And I would never be anything else.

 _Good,_ I thought, _I would hate to suffer in the inferiority of their company. For I doubt a single one of them could offer a decent conversation let alone an intellectual one._

But deep down it…

It hurt.

It hurt to be loathed. To be despised without reason. So I gave them one.

I learned to keep my distance, to guard myself behind my cold indifference, my harsh criticism. Because the pain of being vulnerable was unbearable.

Why could people not be more like pigeons or doves?

Gentle and benign beings whose behaviour was driven by an instinctual pattern, you always knew where you stood with them. They never lied, they never insulted your intelligence with their nonsense or sentimental ideology.

Whereas people… People were inconsistent, driven by chaotic emotions rather than the simplicity of instinct or intuition.

I gazed fondly at the small grey birds, dappled with brown and white.

"Yes my feathered friends, I know," I cooed back softly.

At Oxford I had no one.

No one, besides the pigeons.

But sometimes against my will, I often wondered what it would be like to have… _someone._

Someone I could discus scientific theories with, without having them stare at me with confusion, or nod absentmindedly like they understood every word but really they hoped to discourage you from speech.

The sound of footsteps stirred me from my revere as they crunched softly on the autumn leaves, approaching the oak tree.

I turned my head to locate the source of this disturbance and was surprised to find a woman walking straight towards me.

She was dressed in a deep crimson that complemented her creamy white complexion and wavy blond curls that wandered down her back.

But it was her startling blue eyes that captured my attention, as they were not only just as beautiful as she was, but were alive with intelligence and driven by a quest for knowledge that only very few possessed.

A woman at Oxford! Now, there was a first.

I could barely contain my surprise behind, what I hoped to be, a neutral expression.

I glanced away as she neared my small piece of home within Oxford's lonely walls, throwing more crumbs to the pigeons. A wave of apprehensive and uncertainty washed over my body. Feelings I was not acquainted with, nor did I want to be.

But I was betrayed, my own emotions beyond my control, as she stood before me, a small smile gracing her gentle features.

"Excuse me but may I join you?" She enquired. Her voice portrayed her to be calm and collected but those deep blue eyes were troubled, as if weary that I would reject her request. In that instant all I wanted to do was reassure her. Strange, I never felt the need to reassure anyone, but for once I pushed those thoughts aside and let the emotion guide my actions.

"Of course," I replied, my Serbian accent rolling thickly from my tongue. That warm feeling suddenly turned to dread, as she would inevitably recoil from me as soon as she heard my voice.

As most people did.

What could I expect? Foreigners were rarely accepted and I supposed her English upbringing would demand nothing less.

I could expect nothing less.

But this woman did something people rarely did.

She proved me wrong.

 _Well_ , I thought, _it had to happen eventually_.

Just this was so unexpected. And pleasantly so.

"Thank you," she smiled "Mr….."

"Tesla," I replied "Nikola tesla."

"Mr Tesla. A pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine I am sure miss…." I stated as she sat down at a respectable distance away from me. My Apprehension lessened.

"Magnus. Helen Magnus," she responded with pride that did not transcend into arrogance but merely demonstrated an air of confidence that demanded respect.

Helen Magnus… so that was her name. I normally didn't care for people's names, or their lives in general, but she was not just anybody. Nor did I see her as such.

"Miss Magnus," I whispered softly.

She smiled at me in response and I found I rather liked when she did. I smiled genuinely in return.

She held my gaze for a moment, then her eyes left mine, lingering upon her book that had been clasped within her hands.

It read in elaborate gold writing: _ON THE ORGIN OF SPECIES BY CHARLES DARWIN._ She opened the leather bound book revealing creamy white pages that danced hypnotically as she flicked to the page marked by a single dried rose.

Most men would struggle to spell the word 'species' let alone contemplate Darwin's Theory of Evolution, and yet Miss Magnus was drinking in his words, so lost in the depths of this scientific treasure.

I was astonished. This woman was truly remarkable. And I never said that about anyone.

Never.

My eyes were drawn towards her lips as she mouthed the words. As if each one held a key to what she was so desperate to find.

I turned away in embarrassment. It was hardly appropriate to stare at a women, let alone her lips. Throwing more crumbs to the pigeons we sat together in companionable silence. The only sound that could be heard was the soft coo of my beloved birds.

But after 10 minutes of unsuccessfully engaging my mind in the normally riveting concepts of inventing modifications to enhance a number of contraptions I had mentally devised, (Since they had yet to be transferred to paper), I found myself wanting to break the peaceful silence.

For my interest lied not there but wandered towards Miss Magnus, drawn like a magnet, a pebble pulled by the irresistible force that was the tide. My common sense rejected this... whatever it was, completely.

But my incurable fascination ignored my mental protests and would not allow my thoughts to drift elsewhere.

I wanted to talk to her. To hear her voice, to make her smile. Even just for her eyes to look into mine.

I brushed those thoughts away and composed myself, locking them away in the systematic vaults of my mind.

Fanciful notions that made no sense.

Yet as I stole a glance at the woman before me, I felt a pang of regret for not acting upon them.

My eyes lingered upon her perfect form and slowly drifted away once again, simply to rest on my surroundings. Yet everything became vacant, dull even.

Everything except the vast space that was my emotionally driven thoughts. I sat there, lost, meditating on the very prospect of interrupting her intense analysis of the splendour of Darwin's work and engaging in a conversation.

I pondered whether a subtle word or blatant statement was suitable, either way it presented a means to gain her attention. However it seemed I was too late to act.

A polite and rather endearing chuckle emitted from the woman sitting across from me. And I instantly knew that Darwin was not the cause of this rather sudden outburst.

I stared in her direction to find the source of her amusement and found one of my pigeons, who had took it upon herself to pull at the threads of Miss Magnus's dress.

"If you are after food, I believe I will only disappoint you," she addressed the pigeon softly, with a touch of humour. "I believe Mr Tesla is the one you should address."

„Zasto se biju," _(Why you little devil)_ I exclaimed in Serbian at the rather unapologetic bird who paused briefly, only to continue along its merry way.

"Your pigeons are rather sociable towards people," she stated, her lips twitching in amusement.

"I find they are only sociable if you have food," I replied.

"Ah, I understand; A powerful source of motivation," She teased.

"Well apparently my debonair charm could not win them over, so food was the only alternative."

"Indeed, your modesty becomes you so well I do not know how they could resist."

Intelligent and quick witted. My, my… her attributes never failed to impress.

"One of the more unfortunate mysteries of the universe, don't you agree?" I responded, grinning.

She merely rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by my comment, but her lips tugged into a smile that disappeared as she hid its charm behind her words.

"How we are most unfortunate in its ability to elude us," She stated dryly, but her eyes spoke otherwise, shining as we continued our verbal sparring.

"Perhaps one day we shall find the answer" I quipped rising to her challenge.

"Yes perhaps," She smiled with amusement, "but not today, I'm afraid."

"Be still my Serbian heart, for the lady has outwitted me in the battle that is conversation."

"I assume you withdraw in our game of wits?"

"Miss Magnus, there is one thing you must know about me," I whispered softly, moving closer, my eyes locked on hers to show her the full depth of my meaning. "I never give up."

"Oh really?" She enquired with fake astonishment. "I never would have guessed."

Her sarcasm was hardly contained behind the pleasantries of that remark, so I continued to entertain her.

"Well I am glad to have relieved you of your depravation, and I demand a rematch," I declared with all the dramatics I could muster.

"Well then, Mr Tesla, I humbly accept," she laughed.


	3. Of an Ingenious Detective

Time… It was a fragile thing really. We all live within it, taking it for granted, and missing it once our time has come to an end.

It was elementary I supposed, that our time is relative. Our existence brief. But that's what made it so infinitely more precious. 

"James, old boy," greeted a deep, familiar voice that broke my train of thought.

"John," I replied turning to face my dear friend who approached me as I walked through Oxford's grounds.

"You seem unfocused James. Did I disrupt another one of your reflections upon life's many untold secrets?" John remarked good naturedly.

"No. If you had, you would never hear the end of it, I'm afraid, dear chap," I responded dryly.

"Good, as your appeasement is to my own advantage I am sure," He replied, laughing heartily.

"Yes indeed it is."

John responded to my comment, no doubt with some witty remark, but my attention was focused elsewhere. A young Woman dressed in a rather striking red was sitting underneath the old Oak tree.

I had heard that the Great Gregory Magnus had managed to convince the Board to let a woman study at Oxford. This, I observed, must be his daughter, for surely no other woman besides the child bearing his name would have possibly convinced him otherwise to sway the Board to accept such an unorthodox proposal.

More surprising still, she was sitting next to the pompous Serb, of her own volition, seeming to be in deep conversation. And enjoying his company. How queer...

What an interesting turn of events.

"It seems, I have again lost the perceptive mind of James Watson. I …" John paused.

I looked towards him and traced the direction of his gaze to where mine had been. Fixed upon the young woman and the Serbian. Although, from the far away expression etched upon his face I was absolutely positive that his focus resided with the woman, not her rather obnoxious companion.

"And you said I was easily distracted," I remarked

"Who is she?" he enquired softly, ignoring my jibe.

"That is Gregory Magnus's daughter, so therefore, I presume Miss Magnus"

"Your powers of deduction astound me James."

"Well at least I apply them. Yours, dear chap, are a lost cause."

"Well played, Old boy," John retorted.

I smirked in return, "Well It seems to me that you are the one who is dazed, although the mystery of why is hardly one of life's untold secrets," I turned to face in the direction of the oak tree.

John laughed "Will it ever be possible to evade the scrutiny of your observation?"

"Oh you can try, dear chap, you can try."

I watched the two under the tree, they seemed so natural with each other, and she must have been intelligent to keep her own against Tesla's wicked tongue and course disposition. But never the less she seemed to be utterly enchanted by him.

How strange.

And his usually guarded admiration which was never won by anyone but himself, was so evidently bestowed upon her. I continued to watch with fascination and was about to ask John on his opinion of the matter, but his face spoke his mind.

His eyes, like daggers, aimed at the Serbian who made Miss Magnus smile and laugh with ease.

"Ah it seems you have competition. Tesla seems to be making quite the impression on her, and he is almost charming," I quipped light heartedly.

"Quite, but impressions are fickle things James and Mr Tesla merely has to step into a lecture to demonstrate how charming he really is," he responded, tone deepening with a sharp edge.

"Really, John. Jealousy is beneath you," I exclaimed trying to bring him back to reality.

"Indeed James, you are right, I have forgotten my manners. Forgive me old boy. I just can't stand that abhorrent man," John replied looking at me with sincerity.

"I understand, old chap, and you never needed my forgiveness. For I agree he rather does have a tendency to make one detest him, doesn't he?"

"I could not agree more James, I could not agree more."

As we walked away I contemplated this situation in which we had inevitably found ourselves within. Miss Magnus really was beautiful and I could see my friend's immediate attachment despite the absence of proper introductions. It seemed Tesla was just as enamoured, although one could never be too sure with the Serbian. Either way I saw this as a beginning of a conflict. And as for Miss Magnus, she would inevitably find herself caught in the middle.


End file.
